Forsaken Fae: The Complete Series, Books 1-3
By R. A. Steffan
Copyright 2021 by OtherLove Publishing, LLC
Cover by Deranged Doctor Design
Table of Contents
Forsaken Fae: Book One
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Forsaken Fae: Book Two
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Forsaken Fae: Book Three
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Epilogue
The Sixth Demon Sneak Peek
Forsaken Fae: Book One
By R. A. Steffan
ONE
LEN GRAYSON OPENED his front door, blinked at the three inhuman figures standing on his porch, and considered slamming the door in their faces before anyone had time to say a single word. He fantasized in painstaking detail about doing exactly that, imagining his visitors’ looks of surprise for a long, blissful moment before dismissing the idea with reluctance.
After the week he’d just had, he was not prepared to deal with this particular brand of crazy. Unfortunately, this particular brand of crazy wasn’t the kind that went away because you slammed a door on it.
Over the past year or so, he’d discovered that the biggest problem with being ‘in the know’ when it came to the existence of the supernatural world wasn’t the creeping sense of existential dread. Well... it wasn’t just the creeping sense of existential dread. It was also the fact that most supernaturals were assholes. Admittedly not all of them—but an easy two out of three from the current sample group.
Vampires Ransley Thorpe and Zorah Bright smiled at Len with wide, plastered-on grins. Their cheerful geniality wasn’t very convincing, given the pair had the limp body of an unconscious—and all too familiar—blond-haired Fae slung between them.
“Whatever the question is, the answer is no,” Len told them flatly, running a jaundiced eye over the unnaturally handsome creature hanging between Rans’ pale strength and Zorah’s tawny curves.
“Hullo, mate. Need a quick favor from you.” Rans’ voice was English-accented. The words were delivered in an airy tone, as though he hadn’t even registered Len’s blanket denial a mere two seconds earlier.
Len felt his molars grinding together and consciously loosened his jaw. Before he could marshal any decently logical arguments for not letting them cross the threshold into his house, Zorah jumped into the conversation.
“Sorry, Len,” she said. “Normally we wouldn’t ask—”
“Yes, you would,” Len interjected.
“—but Albigard’s down for the count, and we need to keep him off the radar while he recovers,” she finished.
Len closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. In... and out.
Zorah made up the thirty-three-point-three percent of this group who didn’t generally display asshole-ish tendencies. To make the situation even more complicated, she also owned the house. Len was only renting it. Well... more accurately, Len was cutting a monthly rent-sized check to a local shelter for homeless teens. The checks were mostly a way to salve his conscience, since Zorah refused outright to accept any compensation from him for using the place while she was off jet setting with her obscenely rich undead boyfriend.
Combined, these two facts made the prospect of actually shutting the door in her face a bit awkward. Len fought a brief internal battle with himself and lost. He opened it wider, standing aside for them.
“All right,” he said, very much against his better judgment. “Come in, then. You’d better get the sparkly blond bastard off the street before one of the neighbors decides to call the cops on us.”
Rans smiled a shark’s smile at him, and Len suppressed a shudder upon catching a brief glimpse of fang.
“Couch,” Zorah instructed, and the pair manhandled the Fae’s limp body across the living room until they could flop him sideways onto the dilapidated sofa. A creak of protest came from the wooden frame. The thing had been badly cracked during a police raid before Len moved in—back when Zorah had still been the one living here, pre-vampire-boyfriend. She eyed the piece of aging furniture warily for a few moments, waiting to see if it would buckle beneath the Fae’s weight. It didn’t, but she still shot Len a sidelong glance through her wild spirals of hair. “I thought you said you fixed that?”
“I did,” Len told her. “I stuck a couple of concrete pavers beneath the broken part to support it. Problem solved.”
Rans raised a dark, vaguely judgmental eyebrow at him.
“It’s a comfortable couch,” Len said, in response to the unspoken criticism. “And not all of us have investment portfolios dating back to the fourteen hundreds.”
“I didn’t say a word, mate,” Rans retorted.
Len took another calming breath, for all the good it did. “Well, it’s time to start saying some words, mate.” He sketched air quotes around the word. “Why is there an unconscious Fae on this perfectly functional and not-in-need-of-replacement sofa?”
In reality, he had some theories—given everything else that had been going on in the world over the past few days. He just didn’t like any of them very much. Last year, after being chucked into the deep end of the paranormal underworld without a life preserver, Len had quickly discovered that while humans might consider themselves to be the planet’s apex predators, in reality they were more akin to sheep than to lions.
The vast majority of Earth’s residents were unaware that their world had become a sort of demilitarized zone in the aftermath of a millennia-long war between two races far more powerful than humans—the Demons and the Fae. The Fae had arguably won the conflict, and since that time, they’d infiltrated human government and social institutions behind the scenes to a truly disturbing degree.
Most days, Len didn’t regret the bizarre series of events that had led to him learning about all this. Not much, anyway. Many of those events were tied up with Zorah, who’d been a coworker of his before she’d become embroiled in supernatural politics and eventually been turned into a vampire. On days like today, however, with the World�
��s Most Irritating Faerie drooling onto his faded upholstery, Len could happily have returned to ignorance.
Rans frowned down at the unconscious Fae and sighed. He lifted a hand to his own head, dragging pale fingers through waves of dark, messy hair in a frustrated gesture. Len had a sneaking suspicion that the vampire’s ‘casually mussed rock star’ look required almost as much product to maintain as Len’s brightly dyed ombre fauxhawk—even though Rans’ appearance usually managed to give the impression that he’d just rolled out of bed, freshly fucked.
“Right. Explanations. Bit of a long story, I’m afraid,” Rans said.
Zorah flopped down to sit on the floor, resting her shoulders against the front of the sofa. The frame gave another small, protesting squeak at the jostling. She let her head fall back to rest against Albigard’s knees, and Len took a self-indulgent moment to appreciate how much the Fae asshole would hate that if he were awake.
“You’ve been following the news the last few days, I assume?” she asked.
Len looked briefly ceiling-ward before meeting her brown eyes incredulously. “What, you mean the part where every news outlet on the planet is running twenty-four-seven coverage about world leaders inexplicably dropping dead, and something mysterious happening at Stonehenge? Yeah, I might’ve seen a mention or two.”
In fact, Rans and Zorah had been neck-deep in that particular vat of crazy long before it spilled onto the world stage—as had Len’s vampire ex-boss, along with his ex-coworker Vonnie, whose kid had apparently been abducted by the Fae because of his magical bloodlines.
Meanwhile, Len had been stuck here in St. Louis while all of this was going down, receiving the occasional drip-feed of information via text or email and wondering whether these idiots he sometimes called friends were going to live or die when the Fae finally made their move to take full control of the planet.
He knew, deep down, that his life would be a whole lot easier these days if he could somehow train himself to stop giving a crap one way or the other.
“Yeah, okay, ” Zorah conceded. “I guess the news would be a bit hard to avoid under the circumstances. Anyway, we were at Stonehenge with a bunch of other protesters when the Fae showed up and the you-know-what hit the fan. You won’t have seen much about that part of things yet, I’m guessing, since all the magic flying around took out the communications grid across most of southern Britain. Suffice to say, there was a big fight. One of the Fae aimed a lethal blast of magic at Vonnie’s son, and Tinkerbell here jumped in front of it to save him.”
Len blinked, glancing down at the self-centered asshole on the couch. “Wait. Say that again?”
“Believe me,” said Rans. “We were as surprised as you are.”
Zorah glared at both of them. “You. Shut it,” she said, pointing at Rans. Then she looked up at Len. “And, look. I know you had an... unfortunate first meeting with him, but he’s helped us over and over against his own people, even if he does act like a bit of a dick about it most of the time. He’s a good friend, and right now he’s got a giant target painted on his back.”
Rans made a face like he’d tasted something sour. “Friend. You keep using that word. I don’t think it means what you think it means.”
Len stared at him. “Oh, my god. Why am I not remotely surprised that you two communicate via the medium of Princess Bride quotes?”
Zorah shot him an unimpressed look. “We don’t. Normally, we communicate via the medium of angry, furniture-breaking sex.”
“Hey, now. It’s a good movie,” Rans protested. “She’s right about the furniture-breaking sex, though. I suppose that’s one of the unavoidable effects of turning a part-bred succubus into a vampire. Not that I’m complaining, of course.”
Len tried manfully not to blush, having had some firsthand experience of Zorah’s complicated family situation and its consequences. Not many people could claim that they’d once escorted a hybrid sex demon to a BDSM club, then tied her up in shibari rope so she could feed from the sexual energy of the crowd perving on her.
It wasn’t really the kind of thing you put on your résumé.
Zorah cleared her throat. “Anyway.” Whether her dusky skin hid her embarrassment, or whether she simply wasn’t bothered by the casual discussion of her sex life, Len couldn’t have said. Whatever the case, she dragged the conversation back on track, looking pointedly at Rans. “He’s my friend, which is a simpler word to use than trying to describe whatever vaguely homoerotic on-again, off-again frenemies thing you’ve had going on with him for the last few centuries.”
Rans stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “I do not have homoerotic subtext with Tinkerbell. Take that back this instant.”
Len squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, feeling the familiar pull of the piercing in his left eyebrow as the skin moved.
“Moving on,” he said, a bit desperately. “So, you’re basically saying he’s done something to piss off the other Fae, and now you’re trying to hide him. While he’s, y’know, unconscious.”
“Succinctly put,” Rans said. “Though more accurately, he’s done three things in fairly quick succession to piss off his people—each one more egregious than the last.”
“Terrific,” Len muttered. “And you brought him here to hide him... why, exactly?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Zorah said. “This isn’t the hiding place. Not really. We just need to stash him here for an hour or two while we set up transportation to somewhere more permanent. Dragging his limp carcass around with us the whole time would be a total pain in the ass.”
Len gave Zorah his best are you being serious right now expression. “And, again. You brought him to me because...?”
It was Rans who answered. “Because your heart’s too big for your own good, and you’re bad at saying no to things.”
“I said no to this before you two even walked in the door,” Len pointed out—quite fairly, he thought.
“You’re bad at saying no to things and meaning it,” Rans clarified. “Never fear, though. Old Alby can snooze on your couch for a bit and you’ll hardly even know he’s here. We’ll come back and collect him just as soon as we can arrange to get him someplace magically warded. It shouldn’t take long—there are a couple of possibilities to pursue in this general area.”
Len looked at the lustrous, pale blond hair half-obscuring Albigard’s sharp cheekbones and sensual mouth. The Fae’s eyelashes were a dark golden color, and seemed almost ridiculously long and thick.
“God, I hate you two sometimes,” he told the vampires.
“Unsurprising, given the circumstances,” Rans agreed cheerfully. “Speaking of which, how’s the Triumph faring?”
“Your motorcycle?” Len replied in a bland tone. “Oh, that. I let a friend borrow it and he wrapped it around a telephone pole. Total loss. Sorry.”
A look of genuine alarm settled over Rans’ features.
“Kidding,” Len told him. “It’s fine—it’s in the back. Though I feel I should point out that the only reason I have your motorcycle in the first place is because the last time you were here, you borrowed my car and then abandoned it in Chicago. So, if you could... y’know... get it back one to me of these days...?”
Rans relaxed. “Ah. Yes. I’d quite forgotten about the fate of the much-vaunted pimpmobile, given all of the recent excitement.”
Zorah looked thoughtful. “Actually, it might make sense to head for Albigard’s old property in Chicago, rather than trying to find someplace here in St. Louis. It’s already got protective wards, for one thing. And Len, if you came with us, you could pick up your car at the same time. Can you take a few days off?”
Len crossed his arms. “You do remember that the nightclub where I used to work was blown up during one of the Fae’s many attempts to kill you, right?”
She had the grace to look sheepish for a moment, but she recovered quickly. “Oh, right. Sorry. So... is that a yes, then? Though in my defense, they were actually tryin
g to kill someone else, not me.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know,” Len told her. “Well, they may not have succeeded in putting you in the ground, but they did manage a pretty solid hit-job on my little corner of the local economy.”
The club’s owner, Gina, had been covering the staff’s paychecks while various insurance companies fought over the damages. Unfortunately, a good chunk of the employees’ income at the jazz club came from tips, not wages. Len had kept a bit of money set aside for emergencies, but it wouldn’t last long. He’d already had to explore some creative outlets for bringing in additional cash flow.
Zorah winced. “Do you know if Gina’s planning on reopening the nightclub in a different venue?”
“No clue,” Len said. “And we’re getting off topic. If you’re dumping Albigard on me, what the hell am I supposed to do with him? What, exactly, is wrong with him?”
Rans gestured vaguely at the unconscious form. “As Zorah said, the idiot stepped in front of a magical attack that would have been fatal to a human. He’s Fae. Just let him sleep. If it was going to kill him, it probably would have done so already.”
“Probably?” Len echoed, not in a hurry to have anyone bite the proverbial bullet while passed out on his couch. Not even someone as abrasive as Albigard.
Rans shrugged. “Yes. Probably. Fae are tough. Not much can kill them permanently except iron through the heart. Or, well, beheading.” He waved a dismissive hand. “D’you know, he was drowned once for witchcraft, back in the sixteenth century. It barely slowed him down. He perked right up an hour or so later, once I got him away from the iron they’d been using to cage him.” His features settled into a frown. “Though he did vomit up half the harbor once he came around—ruining my best leather jerkin in the process, I might add. He still owes me a new one, come to think of it.”
Zorah caught Len’s eye and mouthed homoerotic subtext at him, out of Rans’ line of sight.
Len lifted a hand to rub at his temple, trying to hold back the pounding headache that threatened to break through. “So, you’re telling me I can just leave him alone and let him do his magic healing thing? Okay, cool. But if you’re not back in two hours, I’m hauling him outside and dumping him by the curb for the garbage truck to pick up in the morning.”
Forsaken Fae: The Complete Series, Books 1-3 (Last Vampire World) Page 1
